The City of Ravens

CHAPTER FOUR

The coach clattered to a halt on the wet cobblestones, rocking gently back and forth as its motion stopped. Liveried footmen hurried forward to open the door, dressed splendidly in white waistcoats and green caps. Jack ignored the offered hand and jumped down, thrusting his chin into the air and tugging at his finest coat to smooth the fit. He motioned the footman aside and turned to help Illyth descend. The noblewoman smiled and took his hand, climbing out of the coach with care.

"Oh, Jack," she breathed. "Isn't it wonderful?" Jack glanced around. The coach stood in the driveway of a noble's palace, one of a dozen or more coaches and carriages lined up along the way. Paper-covered lanterns glowed softly over the manor grounds, and bright light streamed from every window. Music played elegantly in the distance, the strains floating through the air like an imagined kiss. The laughter of lords and ladies rose from all sides, a pleasant buzz that was inviting and intriguing. The evening was cool and damp, the air heavy and still after the rains of the last few days, but the lawn was green and dark, and the house lights gleamed on the wet stone walkway.

"It is fortunate that we have arrived upon the scene," Jack replied. "Your presence is the only delight this gathering lacks, my lady."

Illyth laughed aloud and blushed. "Oh, Jack! Flattery will get you nowhere." She pulled at his hand and tugged him forward. "Come on; let's go inside! I can't wait to get started."

The rogue indulged her with a patient smile and followed. Behind him, the coachman cleared his throat, but Jack never turned around, and he was pretty sure that Illyth hadn't noticed. He'd led the fellow to believe that a substantial gratuity might take the place of the coachman's standard rates, and since Jack was nearly destitute, he wasn't about to give away anything he didn't have to. The coachman wouldn't leave, but he might not be so quick to take Jack as his fare next time.

He trotted up the wide marble steps of the palace a step behind Illyth and swept into a grand foyer without deigning to notice the chamberlains who stood by the door. In the grand ballroom beyond, a hundred or more guests conversed and danced in a swirling mass of wealth and privilege, dressed in some of the most outrageous and exotic costumes Jack had ever seen. He studied the glittering assembly for a moment in wry amusement, feeling very much like a wolf among some very wealthy and carefree sheep. Then the crowd parted to permit the passage of a tight knot of unmasked lords and ladies, exiting even as Jack and Illyth stood in the doorway.

"It's the Lady Mayor!" Illyth gasped, so awestruck that Jack almost laughed.

"So I see," he replied, with a patronizing smile.

He quietly drew Illyth aside to make room for the lady's party, and bowed graciously as she approached. Lady Mayor Amber Lynn Thoden was a strikingly handsome woman, he noticed, surprisingly young and feminine for such a lofty position. She acknowledged the greetings of Game-players with a dazzling yet insincere smile and accepted their attention with unconscious confidence, a goddess receiving her just due. A burgundy gown showed her striking figure quite nicely while remaining in the bounds of good taste, and a silver circlet, the emblem of her office, encircled her dark tresses. Several high lords trailed in her wake, high city officials and dashing army commanders attending their lady.

"Lady Mayor," Jack murmured. "Your loveliness defies comparison this evening."

Lady Thoden raised an eyebrow and turned to study him more closely, her smile shining on Jack but somehow never reaching her eyes. A cool strength and confidence in her gaze struck Jack as disdainful, cold, almost calculating. At the same time she glowed like the sun among the crowd. She offered her hand, and Jack bowed low to kiss it with a sweeping gesture.

"Do I know you, sir?" she asked in a light voice.

"Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame of Chondath. My lady, a visitor in your fair city," Jack replied. He'd seen the Lady Mayor at a distance on two or three previous occasions, but he hadn't realized the beauty and strength she carried in person. Like Elana, but armed with weapons far sharper and more subtle than mere swords. "I shall on this instant declare Raven's Bluff my home until the day I die, for how could I ever leave the enchanted place that wrought a beauty such as yours?"

He started to say more, but the Lady Mayor withdrew her hand and nodded graciously. "I suppose I must abide here as well, for how could I deny you the opportunity to weave words such as those? I hope you enjoy your stay, Lord Wildhame. I bid you goodnight." Then she was gone, sweeping past Jack while the Lord Chancellor and Lord Swylythe briefly introduced themselves and followed behind. Jack scarcely noticed, his eyes still on the Lady Mayor as she left.

"'Your loveliness defies comparison?"' Illyth snorted and caught Jack's arm. "It might be nice if you could spare a compliment or two for me, Jack!"

"I have long since given up hope of discovering a compliment that could do you credit, fair Illyth," Jack replied. He caught her hand and kissed it as well. "If I were to call the sun a candle flame, I should shame both myself and the object of my praise. When I find the words to suit you, I shall never cease to give them voice!"

Illyth laughed and blushed. "That's better, I suppose. Come on-we must get our masks for the Game!" She led him into the robing room, where a handful of attendants in blue and silver awaited. "Lady Illyth Fleetwood and Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame," she told them.

"Lady Illyth," the chief attendant said with a bow. He was a large man, with broad shoulders and a bearlike beard tempered by the twinkle of humor in his eyes. "Lord Jaer. We're so very glad you could attend. I am the Master Crafter Randall Morran, and I will serve as the chief storyteller, moderator, judge, master of ceremonies, and facilitator of entertainment for this challenge of the Game of Masks." He turned his attention to a large wardrobe nearby and searched it thoughtfully before handing two simple masks to them. "Please, try them on. If they are uncomfortable, we shall adjust them."

Rolling his eyes, Jack doffed his splendid feathered cap and handed it to the footman. He pulled on the mask and turned to look at Illyth. A ghostly white crane with striking black plumage seemed to stand in her place, although he could vaguely glimpse the suggestion of a beautiful woman in an elegant gown through the illusion.

"Quite effective," he admitted. "How do I seem to you, Illyth?"

The crane laughed softly. "I find myself addressing a rather sly-looking fox in a gentleman's coat," she said. "It's curiously appropriate. And I?"

"A stately crane, very wise and beautiful," Jack said, "also appropriate. So, what now? How is the game to be played?"

"Listen now to the tale of the Seven Faceless Lords," intoned the Master Crafter. "A long time ago in a distant land, seven wise monarches named Alcantar, Buriz, Carad, Dubhil, Erizum, Fatim, and Geciras ruled well and faithfully seven rich and prosperous kingdoms: Unen, Dues, Trile, Quarra, Pentar, Hexan, and Septun. In their wisdom, the seven monarchs placed the defense of their land in the hands of a great and powerful enchantment. The spell was bound to the monarchs' lives, so that as long as one did live, the land would be unassailable.

"Then, to ensure that no foe undid the enchantment by striking down the monarchs, each of the seven kings went secretly to dwell in the lands held by another monarch, living humbly among the people. When they must perforce appear in public, the monarchs hid their faces and names behind hoods: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple, and Black. Thus no one knew where each king dwelt or even what each king looked like, and the land was ruled well for many years.

"Alas, an enemy arose whom even the wise monarchs did not anticipate. One by one the descendants of the original Seven Lords turned to evil. Their peculiar arrangement made it impossible for the champions of the people to unseat the fallen lords, since even if one were exposed and defeated, any of the other six might loose the great enchantment upon the land to exact a terrible vengeance. And now, the only way in which the land may be freed of the rule of the Seven Faceless Lords is if each monarch's identity and the kingdom in which he dwells is learned by a true and faithful hero, so that all may be exposed and defeated in the very same stroke.

"So, my Lady Crane and my Lord Fox, you have begun the quest secretly to determine the identity of each of the Seven Faceless Lords. Over the next seven weeks, each lord will host a revel celebrating the seventh century of their houses' joint rule. Tonight you are guests at the Red Lord's Revel. May your search be fruitful, for all the land demands justice!"

Jack nodded. Seven lords, seven names, seven kingdoms. All one had to do was to hit upon the correct alignment out of the, just a moment, three hundred and forty-three possible combinations. Simple persistence should win the day.

"That doesn't seem too hard," he said aloud.

"Oh, and you should know," Randall Morran added, "that you are entitled to make only one guess. Should you guess wrong, the Faceless Lords will destroy you at once, thus removing your characters from the game."

"Is that all?" Illyth asked.

"No, my lady," said a second attendant. "Each pair of participants begins with a clue as to the identity of one of the Faceless Lords. By carefully conversing with the other guests and exchanging clues, you should eventually identify each lord's name and dwelling place."

"And our clue is?" Jack asked.

Master Crafter Randall Morran consulted a large leather-bound tome. Then he opened a small locked chest sitting on the credenza and rifled through its contents, producing a small ivory token stamped with gold filigree and printed with small lettering. "Here it is, my lord."

Jack took the token and glanced at it. Dubhil is not the Orange Lord, it read.

"If you are wise, you'll ask to see the another player's clue token when you exchange information," the second attendant said. "Some unsportsmanlike players might deliberately mislead you otherwise."

"Perish the thought," Jack muttered.

There was one strategy out the window. He passed the token to Illyth, thinking hard. It would be very difficult to get information out of another player without providing information of presumably equal value; that meant that any clever and thorough player would make progress at about the same speed as any other clever and thorough player. Of course, the tokens might be faked or stolen. Or, for that matter, that big leather book where the Game judges apparently kept a roster of players and clues might be borrowed for a time and then carefully replaced.

An unsportsmanlike player had a few options open to him, at least. Jack nodded to himself. It might not be so bad, after all.

"One more question," Illyth asked. "What happens if a participant guesses wrong and removes himself-and therefore his clue as well-from the Game?"

"Good question," Jack said.

Illyth was somewhat gullible and given to romantic nonsense, but there was nothing wrong with her reasoning. When she put her mind to it, there were few puzzles she couldn't figure out. If he could possibly accept the notion of losing fairly, he might have even considered tackling the riddle without deceit, relying on nothing more than her logical powers and his own guile.

"Oh, we've already thought of that," the Master Grafter said. "There are a handful of vital clues that we are watching out for. If a player with one of those clues faults out of the Game, we will reintroduce his clue by secretly reassigning it to a randomly determined player who is still in the Game. Never fear, my lady Crane; we'll make sure that a solution is possible for any who still choose to play." He guided them over to the elegant doors leading into the ballroom and bowed. "The Red Lord's Revel awaits, my lady!"

"Thank you," Illyth murmured. She took Jack's arm, and together they descended the small flight of steps leading down and into the grand room. Figures merry and fierce thronged the floor, bears and leopards, dragons and serpents, falcons and sparrows and gulls. Some danced, while others conversed gaily, and still more sampled the various hors d'oeuvres spread out along the shining side table. Striding through the center of the throng, the Red Lord moved with grace, confidence, and an air of subtle cruelty, a tall man (or woman?) in a scarlet robe and a seamless, eyeless hood of the same color.

"Lord Fox, Lady Crane," said a grinning satyr at Jack's elbow. "I see that you have just arrived. Perhaps you might consent to an exchange of information in order to begin the evening's riddle."

Illyth shrugged. "It seems as good a place as any to start." She started to hand her token over, but Jack deftly caught her hand.

"A moment," he said with a smile. He winked at her and turned to the satyr. "Your strategy, sir, is simple. You wait here near the place where newcomers enter, and offer them a fair trade-your clue for theirs. Thus you gain dozens of clues at the expense of one."

The satyr-masked man laughed. "I see you have no small instinct for gamesmanship. Well? How about it?"

"We would be parting with the entirety of our knowledge in exchange for a twentieth, perhaps a thirtieth, of yours," Illyth said, catching Jack's eye. "That doesn't seem quite so fair."

"I can hardly be held responsible for your late start," said the satyr. "Do you want my clue, or not?"

"We'll show you our token if you show yours, and tell us three other things you have learned," said Jack.

"My clue, plus one more," the satyr said.

"Make it two, and you'll have a deal," said Illyth.

The man grimaced-a difficult expression through the horned mask-and agreed with a nod. "Very well, then." They exchanged tokens; the satyr's read The Black Lord is the brother of Geciras. "Here are two clues more that I have learned: Alcantar does not dwell in Septun, and the Blue Lord does not dwell in Dues." He offered a shallow bow and moved on into the party.

"This is going to be very difficult to keep straight," Illyth said quietly to Jack. "I should have brought a journal and a pen."

"A sound idea. We'll do so next time, although I suspect that everyone else will have the same idea. In the meantime, I suggest this division of labor: You commit the confirmed clues to memory, while I'll memorize the unreliable ones."

"Confirmed and unreliable?"

"Clue tokens we have seen, and clue tokens we have heard about secondhand. I don't doubt that our satyr friend made up the two clues he told us, but on occasion, someone may deal with us in good faith. And if we have unreliable clues that don't contradict each other, there's a chance they might be the truth."

"Do you think that he was really lying to us?"

Jack simply laughed. "I would have, had I been him. Come on-let's see what clues we can learn and what deceits we can spread." Arm in arm, they moved on into the Game of Masks.

By the time midnight drew near, Jack had learned three important things.

First of all, he'd learned that many of the players were not interested in rushing willy-nilly toward the collection of every clue at hand. In fact, there weren't more than a dozen or so serious competitors who were trying to hound out clues as quickly as possible. For the majority of the Game players, the entertainment of the evening lay not in solving the puzzle but in playing the Game itself. It boggled Jack. Many players made small talk or thought up stories to tell about other players or the Red Lord, weaving a complex plot around the rather trite story that the Game coordinators had invented to justify the riddle. Players refused to trade clues, offered to trade clues if Illyth and he would do something to forward their own little plots and efforts, or just casually dismissed Lord Fox and Lady Crane outright, telling them to come back later.

Secondly, Jack learned that it was possible to deftly pickpocket clue-tokens from passersby, especially on the crowded dance floor. He managed to pull off the feat three times during the course of the night. Of course, he couldn't figure out how to let Illyth know that these clues were reliable, but he figured that he'd solve that problem later.

Finally, Jack learned that it was extremely inadvisable to be caught at filching tokens. Near the end of the evening, Jack found himself standing near a man concealed beneath a panther mask as black as coal. The fellow was engaged in a conversation with a pretty serving girl next to the buffet sideboard. Jack sidled up behind him, filled a plate with food, and casually bumped the man as if by accident. The panther jumped and whirled on him, at which point Jack "accidentally" spilled his plate.

"Oh, please excuse me," Jack said. "How clumsy of me."

"No apology needed," the panther said, examining his clothes to see if any food had been spilled on him. He swayed a little, apparently a little in his cups. "No harm done-here, what's this?" Quicker than Jack would have believed, the drunken man reached out to seize his wrist with the abrupt celerity that strong wine sometimes imparts. Lord Panther twisted Jack's wrist, staring at his own clue token. "Huh? In a hurry to see my clue, eh?"

Jack winced. He shouldn't have pressed his luck-a good pickpocket worked with an accessory or two to help pass off loot quickly, just so this sort of thing didn't happen. "Ah, I'll agree that this looks bad," he said. "I assure you, sir, that this is completely accidental, a freakish coincidence. I would never deliberately stoop to such a crass tactic." He began to gain confidence in his bluster. "In fact, your accusation is unjust and undeserved. The Red Lord's vintages have fuddled your wits."

"How dare you deny your guilt when my token is in your hands!" Lord Panther growled. He seemed to be sobering quickly.

At that moment, Illyth disentangled herself from a nearby conversation and made her way over. "Hello, Jack. What's the trouble?"

"Ah, my Lady Crane. I sincerely hope that you adhere to higher standards than your companion here, or do you intend to seduce me in order to gain access to my token?"

Illyth stiffened. "I intend nothing of the sort. In fact, I don't much care for your words, sir."

"And I don't much care for finding this guttersnipe's hands in my pockets," Lord Panther said. "You should be more careful in choosing your associates, my lady."

"The lady has nothing to do with this," Jack said. "Listen, I am a reasonable man. Although I am under no compunction to do so, I'll show you my token by way of negotiating a mutually acceptable solution to our disagreement."

Lord Panther pried his token out of Jack's hand. Then he shoved the rogue hard with his free hand. Jack kept his feet but knocked over a side table in doing so. A chorus of breaking dishes drew the attention of everyone nearby.

"I have no wish to settle anything, you cutpurse," Panther said. "Acknowledge your guilt and apologize this instant, or leave this Game at once."

"Hold!" The crowd parted as the Red Lord appeared, tall and stately. "What quarrel disturbs my revel?"

"It seems you have invited a thief to your party, my lord," Panther said, nodding at Jack. "I caught this cretin pawing through my pockets."

"Lord Panther misunderstands," Jack replied. "It was a simple accident."

"I misunderstand nothing," Panther snapped. "Come on, you. You're leaving right now."

"Wait," the Red Lord said. "This is my revel, and I shall decide matters of justice. You claim that Lord Fox is a thief. Lord Fox denies the charge. There can be only one resolution."

"What's that?" Jack asked, more than a little concerned.

"Trial by combat," the Red Lord said. "We shall let truth and piety decide the quarrel. No unrighteous man can stand before the truth. Bring me a pair of dueling swords!"

Jack was fairly certain that that statement was not necessarily true, but he was quite certain that he didn't want to fight a duel this very instant. Was this part of the Game, a mock fight to assuage Lord Panther's damaged honor? Or did the Game players and organizers expect to see blood on the marble floor before the night was through?

"I would be delighted to oblige, Red Lord," he said carefully, "but I have recently endured a long and debilitating sickness-not contagious, no need to worry! — and I'm not really up for a sword fight at the moment."

"If you will not stand against your accuser, Lord Fox, we must rule that his claims are founded in truth and judge accordingly," the Red Lord said. "How can it be otherwise?"

"Perhaps I could designate a proxy?" Jack asked.

"In the kingdoms of the Faceless Lords, no such practice exists," the Red Lord intoned. "Why, you might choose a proxy based on nothing more than sheer physical skill for the purpose of gaining an unfair advantage!"

"That would never occur to me," Jack said, pure sincerity in his voice. "It was the farthest thought from my mind." He licked his lips and rubbed his hands nervously at his hips. "What of a battle of wits, then? Or a contest of balancing plates upon our heads? If Lord Panther is challenging me, don't I as the challenged have the privilege of choosing the weapons?"

"All true gentlemen know well how to argue with their blades," the Red Lord said, "and, if you have the strength of your convictions to shield you, no harm can possibly come to you. Now will you meet Lord Panther's challenge or not?"

Jack let the silence stretch so long that the gathering crowd began to grow restless. He might have ignored them despite the approbation in their eyes, but his gaze fell on Illyth. Even through the mask, he could see the mortification in her downcast face and slumping shoulders.

He couldn't disappoint her on the first night of the Game. "I accept the challenge," he declared in a ringing voice. "Lord Panther has allowed your fine drink to addle his wits, my lord. I would rather not fight a man in such a state and did earnestly make every effort to avoid this passage of arms. I only hope that I can avoid injuring him in some lasting way!"

"Not only do I call you a thief, but a braggart and a buffoon!" Panther said. "By Tyr's sainted ears, don't you ever shut up?"

A servant trotted up to the Red Lord, bearing a large wooden case. He opened it and bowed, presenting two fine, matched blades to the Faceless Lord. The cloaked figure studied the swords for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Clear a circle fifteen paces across, in the center of the floor!" he commanded. The crowd surged back in response to his voice. Conversation fell to an excited buzz as the players whispered and speculated.

Jack found himself standing on one side, a gleaming sword in his hand, watching Lord Panther stalk back and forth, working his muscles to loosen up. The other man seemed bigger, stronger, and not anywhere near as drunk as he should have been.

"Jack, please be careful," Illyth begged.

"I cannot abide his insults," Jack said calmly. "Justice must be attended to."

The Red Lord moved to the center of the circle and raised his hands. "Gentlemen, shall three touches serve honor tonight?"

"Fine," grunted Lord Panther.

"Of course," Jack replied.

"Excellent. Whoever leaves the circle, loses his weapon, or asks for quarter shall lose on the instant. When I lower my hand, you may commence." The Red Lord backed away, his arm high. Then he dropped it like an executioner's axe.

"Have at you!" Panther bellowed. He leaped forward, lashing out in a head-high cut that might have decapitated Jack outright if the smaller man hadn't ducked under the swing. Jack riposted with a sturdy thrust straight ahead, but Lord Panther twisted his lean hips and allowed Jack's point to glide past without making contact. Panther countered with a backhanded slash under Jack's blade, and now Jack had to leap as far as he could straight up into the air, drawing his feet up under his body and grunting with effort. "Ho! Stand still!"

"Careful!" Jack said. "You might hurt someone."

He dashed aside, and spent the next ten or twenty heartbeats darting round and round inside the circle, trying to stay ahead of Lord Panther's powerful swings. The man was no casual student of swordplay-he was well acquainted with what he was doing, and he didn't seem to care if a "touch" took off one of Jack's limbs by mistake. When Jack tried to stand his ground, the man launched a reckless flurry of slashes and thrusts that instantly threw the rogue into complete defense, ducking and parrying to keep Panther's blade at some safer distance. He decided he'd picked the wrong man to pickpocket.

"Stand and fight!'' the lord roared.

Two quick passes of the blades, and then Lord Panther hammered through Jack's guard and slammed the blade into the thief's upper thigh, a blow that spun Jack to the ground and made the dueling sword flash a brilliant white light. The bystanders gasped and roared in delight.

"One touch for Lord Panther!" the Red Lord cried.

Stunned, Jack gingerly felt for his wound, expecting to see his blood pouring out of a gash half a hand deep, but he felt nothing, other than a deep, shocking sting. He rolled over and looked at his leg. There wasn't a mark on him. The swords, he realized. They're enchanted! They don't cut!

"Do you yield?" his opponent snarled.

"Hardly," Jack said. He pushed himself to his feet. His left leg would stiffen up later, but for now it held his weight well enough. He could take a sting or two. "A child's blow, feebly struck. I permitted it so that you would not lose your spirit."

"Excellent," the Panther said. "I shall endeavor to strike you harder then!"

"Continue!" the Red Lord commanded.

Lord Panther charged up fast, his blade flashing, but this time Jack dived forward and rolled up underneath his opponent's guard. He felt Panther's sword miss the crown of his head by inches, whickering past his ear, and then he stabbed the point of his own blade into Panther's groin. The blade flashed white and jolted in Jack's hand, imparting its painful message.

"Ha!" he cried.

The audience groaned in dismay. Lord Panther made a strangled sound and dropped to his hands and knees beside Jack.

"Basely struck," he gasped.

"One touch for Lord Fox," the Red Lord said. Some in the audience hissed in disapproval. "That was an ignoble blow, sir."

"My apologies, lord," Jack said, scrambling to his feet. He hopped away on his good leg, grinning devilishly. "I thought my opponent was shorter. Would you care to yield?"

Lord Panther climbed to his feet and stood a moment with his hands on his knees. "I'm not ready to yield yet," he said slowly. With great care, he straightened up and swung his blade slowly left to right, right to left, as if reminding himself of its weight.

"Gentlemen, continue," the Red Lord said.

This time, both combatants circled cautiously. Thrust and parry, thrust and parry, the blades clanged against each other with shrill rings. Jack held his own for a time, although he recognized that Panther was a better swordsman than he-and then Lord Panther launched a feint that caught Jack squarely on his weakened left leg, and as Jack's knee buckled, Panther reversed his attack and whipped the blade of his sword fast and hard against the back of the rogue's head.

White lights exploded in Jack's eyes. He tumbled to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His right ear was filled with a roaring sound that wouldn't go away, and the sword went skittering from his hand across the stone. He lay on his back, staring at the bright lights popping in front of his eyes for what seemed to be just a moment. Then he drifted down into deep, soft, darkness.

The next thing Jack knew, he found himself staring up at a lovely, pastoral scene of green fields and dancing nymphs, his skull aching as if it had been split in two. He was in a small, dark-paneled room, resting on a large, soft divan. The ceiling was painted elaborately and finished with a lovely gold filigree, framing the picture above him. There was no sign of the Red Lord or Lord Panther or any of the other guests.

"I seem to have misplaced the party," he announced to no one in particular.

"The Game's over for tonight," said Illyth from somewhere behind him. She sat down beside him and leaned over to study his eyes. "You've been unconscious for almost an hour. Do you think you can walk?"

"Aid me, dear Illyth, and I'll find out," Jack said. He accepted her arm and gingerly sat upright. His legs were rubbery but serviceable. Very carefully, he reached up to feel his head, and discovered a long knot the size of a hen's egg just above and behind his right ear. "Ooooh," he moaned.

"A hard blow. I'm surprised you woke up at all." Disapproval tightened Illyth's voice, and there was no gentleness in the viselike grip she maintained on his upper arm. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Jack. You're no swordsman!"

"It may seem that my talents lie elsewhere," Jack admitted. "My style is unorthodox, though, and it would be difficult for the untrained observer accurately to measure my skill. Lord Panther simply struck me a lucky blow."

"But you refused to back down, even when you could see that your opponent was better than you."

Jack's wits must have been addled from the knock on his head. Without thinking about it, he told the truth. "I couldn't disappoint you," he said. "I know you've had your heart set on the Game."

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried picking pockets," Illyth scolded him. "Honestly, Jack, I'm dumbfounded. You should know better than that!" She walked him toward the door, steadying him with one arm. Jack valiantly ignored the nausea and dizziness and allowed her to lead him through the abandoned banquet hall to the foyer and the driveway outside. Jack's coach was long gone, but it seemed that the master of the house had hired a couple of carriages for the convenience of his guests, and Illyth had a footman hail one. "I can't believe you resorted to stealing clues!" she hissed as they waited for the coach.

"It wasn't quite like that," Jack said. They clambered into the carriage and settled themselves. Then the coach clattered off into the night. They rode together in silence for a few minutes. Each jolt of the wheels sent fiery spikes through Jack's skull; he groaned softly with each rut or misplaced cobblestone. Between bumps he looked over at Illyth, but the noblewoman was glowering out the window at the city streets. Jack winced-he couldn't allow her to become so upset that she'd drop him altogether. If nothing else, he needed her for the Game. He decided to engage her scholarly leanings and change the subject at the same time. "I found something about Gerard today," he offered.

He guessed right; she couldn't resist an opening like that. "Really?" she asked, looking over at him.

"I visited the library of the Wizard's Guild and studied old membership rolls," he said. "You would have been proud of me, my dear, hours with my nose in a musty old book, trying to ferret out a clue!"

"Perhaps you might be salvageable after all," she said. "Go on."

"I discovered that the Guild assigned one Durezil to catalog and close up Gerard's rooms when Gerard did not return from his last adventure."

"Durezil? The fellow who was eaten by trolls?"

Jack nodded in appreciation. "Why, yes, in fact, the very wizard. I'm surprised that you would remember such a thing."

"Oh, the great majority of the adventurers I studied died in very mysterious circumstances. Durezil stands out because his companions not only returned to Raven's Bluff, but they actually recorded the circumstances of his end."

"What of the Sarkonagael or any mysterious books in Durezil's possession?"

Illyth frowned, thinking. "I seem to recall that Durezil's companions sold off most of his belongings and split the proceeds," she said. "I'd have to consult my notes to be certain, but I seem to recall that a wizard calling himself Iphegor the Black might have bought many of Durezil's old books."

Jack grinned. "I know where Iphegor the Black lives," he said. "My thanks, Illyth! I am in your debt."

"I thought you wanted to know about Gerard for some kind of play production, Jack. Is it this book that you're really interested in?"

"Oh, from what I've heard of Gerard, it was important to him " Jack said quickly, "and I'm thinking of increasing the role of Gerard in my play. Or maybe I'll cast the book as the villain and say that it uses its owners to do terrible things. Now what do we know about the Game riddle? Let us pass the rest of the ride by assembling our clues and analyzing them."

The coach rumbled on through the city streets.

The next day passed by Jack in a skull-splitting haze. He tried several times to climb out of his bed but failed on each attempt and finally resolved simply to spend the entire day in bed. He also found himself wishing Lord Panther significant and hopefully long-lasting dysfunctions from the one solid blow Jack had managed during their duel. By early evening he rallied enough to drag himself out for a hot skewer of grilled beef and onions at Nimber's Skewer Shop, little more than a windowed kitchen on a busy corner of the Skymbles. Eating something served to steady him greatly, and Jack thought about his next moves as he sat under a wooden overhang near the skewer-shop and watched people plod through the mud and the rain. Elana, Zandria, Illyth… he certainly did not lack things to do!

Jack spent the rest of the evening and most of the day after making inquiries in various quarters regarding Iphegor the Black. He also wandered past the mage's tower and studied it carefully, thinking about what he would have to do to break in. He considered briefly the notion of knocking on the door and simply asking Iphegor how much he wanted for the book-there might be a tidy profit to be made by acting as a broker in this instance. But three factors dissuaded him from that course of action: first, Elana seemed to be cautious with her purse and probably couldn't afford to buy the book outright; second, Iphegor's ill temper was legendary; and finally, Jack didn't want to put the wizard on his guard by asking openly about the book. If the wizard refused to sell it, of course he would take steps to make sure that the prospective buyer wouldn't resort to thievery.

By the end of the day, Jack had a good idea of what he would have to do to get his hands on the Sarkonagael.

He deliberately ignored his trepidation about the enterprise, assuming an attitude of supreme confidence. If he believed it possible, then it was surely possible, and nothing could prevent the success of any enterprise he cared to undertake. He headed toward the Cracked Tankard to celebrate his resolve and contemplate his coming reward.

Briesa was not there (he recalled that the fifth day of the week was her night off), so Jack simply stood at the bar and ordered a hunk of roast beef and a plate of boiled potatoes to go with his dark ale. He was just about to dig in when a cloaked and hooded figure moved up beside him and clamped a strong hand on his arm.

"Hello, Jack. Why don't we find a quiet table where we can talk?"

"Elana!" Jack exclaimed around a mouthful of potatoes. "What a pleasant surprise!"

He seized his plate and his mug and hurried after the swordswoman, who was already threading her way toward a quiet alcove in the back of the room. It wasn't Jack's usual spot, but it was perhaps even harder to spy on if not quite as close to the room's exits.

As he sat down, Elana drew the privacy curtain shut and lowered the cowl of her hood. Her strong beauty was undiminished-the dark eyes and raven hair, the soft lips, the lean grace. Jack decided that he'd have that book even if he had to fight his way through a horde of guardian demons to get his hands on it. Elana simply watched him for a moment and then smiled sardonically, as if she could guess at what he was thinking and was simply amused by it.

"Well, Jack Ravenwild, have you found me my book yet?"

"Possibly," he said. "I have a very good lead, dear Elana, although I confess I am exceedingly curious to discover why you want it."

"It's good to want things that you can't have," she replied. "It keeps your ambition sharp. I see no need to take you into my confidence, Jack, not any deeper than you already are."

"Be that as it may, I still don't know exactly what the Sarkonagael is-"

"But you know where it is?" she asked, interrupting him.

"I'll know for certain tomorrow," Jack said. "If all goes well, I'll have the book in hand by tomorrow evening."

"What do you mean, if all goes well?"

"The book is the property of a person who is likely to object to its removal from his collection."

"Who? Who has it?" Elana leaned forward, her eyes burning with intense interest.

"Why, I can't tell you that," Jack said with a laugh. "I told you on the occasion of our first meeting-I work for half in advance, half upon completion of the work. As of this very moment, you have paid me one hundred gold crowns out of a promised five hundred, plus a very generous bonus arrangement should I recover the book for you. But if I let you know exactly where the book is, why, you might forget the balance of our contract-and the attendant bonus-in your enthusiasm to claim your property, and then where would I be?"

"I don't go back on my word once I give it," Elana said in a hard voice.

"I never said that you would, dear Elana. I merely observe that some of my employers have had difficulty in recalling the exact terms of a bargain once I delivered what they wanted."

Elana studied him for a long moment. "You don't want me to beat you to the book. Very well, I can appreciate that, but I'm going to insist that you tell me something of its whereabouts, so that if something happens to you I won't have spent my money in vain."

"Understandable," Jack conceded. "In that case, I would ask for an additional one hundred and fifty crowns up front to make up the balance of my advance."

The swordswoman's eyes flashed in anger. "Are you attempting to change the terms of our agreement?"

"I never agreed to disclose all information as I discovered it," Jack replied. "You are requesting me to do so now, so I am merely attempting to set a fair value on it. After all, the last thing you said to me on the subject was that you'd pay me the balance when I bring you the book or when I present evidence that convinces you that it cannot be found in Raven's Bluff. I can't show you any evidence of that sort, so I'd better produce the book."

"You agreed, at least tacitly, to a reduced advance in exchange for the bonus on delivery," Elana pointed out.

"True," Jack agreed. He offered a fierce grin. "A partial or complete payment of the bonus would certainly count toward my advance, but I didn't want to bring it up unless you did."

"I see," Elana said. Her anger faded, replaced by some emotion that Jack had a harder time identifying-calculation, perhaps? Suddenly, she rose in her seat and leaned across the table, reaching behind his head with one hand and kissing him hard. His whole body jolted as if he'd been shocked.

Jack recoiled in surprise, but Elana refused to release him, and after a moment he returned her kiss with a building fervor. She teased his tongue with hers, her breath soft and hot on his face. He cupped her face with one hand and boldly extended the other to caress one perfect breast protected by the leather and steel that she wore, and then she pulled away, returning to her seat while Jack strained forward to maintain the moment's contact.

Elana smirked at him and then reached into a deep pocket, pulling out a small purse that jingled when it landed on the table. "The balance of your advance, and a hint of your bonus if you succeed," she said sweetly. "Now, what's your lead?"

"Iphegor the Black," Jack said blankly. He slumped back into his seat, looking up at the ceiling to regain his composure. "A wizard named Iphegor the Black. I believe that he acquired the book from another wizard named Durezil, who may have acquired it from Gerard's belongings when they were sold off after his disappearance."

"Is it reliable?" she asked.

"It's guesswork, but it makes sense," he admitted. "I rarely have the advantage of incontrovertible evidence and confirmed sightings. My gift lies in my intuition for weaving suggestions and suppositions into facts."

"In other words, you're a good guesser," Elana said. She shook her head and started to stand. "Well, I will allow you to play your hunch, Jack. That's what I hired you for, after all. If you're right, bring the book to me three nights from now."

"Here?"

Elana snorted. "Do you have any idea of how many people watch this place? No, I'll leave word for you. Make sure you wrap up the book or cover it somehow."

"My lady," Jack said in a pained voice, "I am not unfamiliar with exchanges such as these."

"I suppose so," Elana said. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be keeping an eye on your progress." With that, she slipped out of the privacy curtain and disappeared into the crowded tavern floor.

Absently, Jack counted the coins in the purse and picked at his dinner. To tell the truth, he would have told her anything for the kiss alone.